


a bad day

by luna-and-mars (newideasintheair)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump, ch 1 is amy & rosa friendship, ch 2 is peraltiago fluff, set early in jake and amy's relationship, so beginning of season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newideasintheair/pseuds/luna-and-mars
Summary: Amy has just enough presence of mind to be annoyed at the irony of it all. She's been trying to get Jake to open up for weeks, and now, when he's finally talking about feelings, her head is buzzing too much to follow it.Set in early season 3.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here we are. I wrote this ages ago but was too nervous to post it, so many thanks to the lovely people who commented on my fic [a grammar lesson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368541) and encouraged me. These are sort of connected: I wrote this one first, and it made me want to write some established relationship fluff with a similar theme.
> 
> This takes place in the first few weeks to months of Jake and Amy's relationship. This chapter is mostly Amy and Rosa friendship, because I live for that; the next one will be much more Peraltiago-focused.

"Wow, you look awful."

"Thanks, Jake, that's really sweet."

Jake ignores this. "I thought you agreed you'd stay home today if you felt any worse."

"I feel fine."

"Really? Because you sound like death, and you were  _late for work."_

Amy finishes unpacking her files and sits heavily at her desk. "Ugh, I know. Do you think the captain noticed?"

Jake glances over at Holt's office. "Nah, he's been on the phone. But that's not the point. Ames, you're sick, you shouldn't be here."

Amy scoffs, which makes her cough, and Jake raises his eyebrows victoriously above a look of real concern. She clears her throat and takes a drink from her water bottle, which does nothing to ease her hoarseness or the congestion apparent in her voice. "You think I'd stay home for  _this?_  This is nothing."

"You were late to work."

"By two and a half minutes!"

"Your jacket's crooked."

She hastens to fix it while eyeing him in turn. "You wore that same shirt yesterday."

"You're mouth breathing."

Amy shuts her mouth defiantly, and Jake waits pointedly until she runs out of air and is forced to open it again to breathe. She rolls her eyes, but she's cut off by a sneeze, and then another. "Shut up," she says stuffily, rifling around in her desk for a tissue box. "Let's just get to the briefing."

 

 

In the briefing room, the beat cops are already standing around talking, and the detectives are already in their seats. Amy takes her usual seat in the front, but Gina, who was sitting beside her, takes one look before recoiling and leaping out of her chair.

"Uh-uh. No. No way."

"Hey," Amy says, voice cracking, surprised and slightly hurt. "What'd I do?"

"Be a biochemical hazard!"

"What?"

"You're sick!" Gina relocates back several rows to sit beside Rosa and pulls her sweater up over her face.

"Oh, come on," Amy says, but she's glad there’s a reason for Gina’s reaction.

"She’s right, Santiago, you look like hell," Rosa chimes in.

"Who asked you?" Amy tries to sound derisive but immediately breaks into a fit of harsh coughs.

It sounds painful, and the sergeant lets out a "Damn, Amy" as she struggles to regain control before the captain arrives. Amy winces as she takes a drink of water and it burns at her sore throat.

She's managed to gather herself reasonably well by the time the captain takes the podium and begins.

"I've just received word from One Police Plaza that next month—good God, Santiago, what happened to you?"

"Sir?" Her voice cracks horribly.

"You look like a corpse!"

Amy shifts in embarrassment, avoiding the gaze of the other detectives. "I'm sorry, sir. I have a bit of a cold."

"And did you not think it wise to remain at home until you had recovered from this… bought of the plague?"

"I'm fine, sir, it's really nothing. And don't worry, I'm using lots of hand sanitizer." Her voice is far too hoarse and stuffy to be convincing, and Holt stares at her for a moment in disbelief before evidently deciding to drop it and continue the briefing.

Amy tries to pay attention and take notes as usual, but most of her energy is used up in trying not to be disruptive. Unwilling to interrupt the captain by blowing her nose, she's forced to sniffle and wipe at her nose every few seconds. By the time the captain calls Jake up to brief the squad, Amy is stifling sneezes and wishing she'd brought more tissues with her.

Jake is only a few minutes into his presentation when the persistent tickle in Amy's throat takes over and she is lost to a painful coughing fit. Each spasm tears at her throat and pounds against her skull. Amy tries to swallow, tries to hold her breath, but she can't stop coughing. Jake has stopped speaking, and even while doubled over in her seat and with black spots in her vision, Amy can feel everyone’s eyes on her.

"Santiago," she hears the captain say, but she doesn't have the breath to reply.  _So much for not making a scene_. With as much dignity as she has left, she half-walks, half-stumbles out of the briefing room.

She leaves a sudden silence in the briefing room in her wake, over which her faint coughing can still be heard, getting farther away.

Holt sighs. "Gina, would you follow her and make sure she's still breathing?"

Gina's pressed her sweater sleeves over her nose and mouth, but even with half her face obscured she still manages to look appalled. "Absolutely not."

Jake moves to leave, but Holt stops him. "You're still briefing."

Rosa rolls her eyes. "I'll go." She stands and grabs Amy’s abandoned water bottle before stalking off after her.

 

 

By the time Rosa finds her in the bathroom, Amy has managed to stop coughing and is now breathing raggedly as she leans against the wall for support. She looks surprised to see Rosa.

“Hey, is the briefing over?” Her voice is somehow worse than before, and Rosa winces at the sound of it.

“No,” Rosa hands her the water bottle. “I came to make sure you didn't pass out.”

Amy accepts the water bottle and looks touched at the gesture. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. You should go back, though, I've been disruptive enough as it is.”

Rosa doesn't move. “You need a ride home?”

“What? No, I’ll follow you as soon as I wash my hands. The captain needs us to brief him on our B&E.”

Rosa raises an eyebrow incredulously, and Amy starts to defend herself but is overcome with coughing again. When she recovers much faster than last time, she gives a weak smile of victory at a still-skeptical Rosa. “See? Let’s go.”

 

 

When Amy returns, the briefing is over, and Jake watches her anxiously as she sits across from him and determinedly avoids his gaze. “You okay?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Cause you sounded pretty bad back there.”

She starts to reply but is cut off by a sneeze.

“Ames—”

“Look, Jake. I'm sorry for interrupting your briefing, but I have work to do.” She stands and stalks off to speak with Rosa, leaving Jake worried and confused and slightly hurt.

 

 

“Security footage is available for the first four minutes before it cuts out.” Rosa and Amy are in Holt’s office, briefing him on the B&E they've been working on.

“Very well. Follow up with the lab after you finish going through the witness statements.”

“Yes, sir.” Amy’s well and truly lost her voice now, incapable of anything above a hoarse whisper. She starts to stand, but Holt cuts her off.

“No, only Diaz.”

“Sir?”

“You're ill, Santiago. Frankly, you shouldn't be at work at all right now, but if I can't make you go home, at least I can confine you to your desk.”

“Sir,” Amy protests between sneezes, “it is a matter of personal pride for me that I have a perfect attendance record stretching—”

“I don't care,” Holt interrupts, “you're in no shape for field work. Dismissed.”

Amy leaves the captain’s office with the familiar expression she wears after an interaction with Holt doesn’t go according to plan.

“Should we start with the witness statements?” Rosa asks, but Amy isn't listening.

“Why does he think I can't do it?” she whispers, more to herself than anything.

“Cause you're the color of dirty chalk and you look like a strong breeze could knock you over.” Rosa can tell right away it's the wrong thing to say, and she hastens to amend it. “I mean, you're sick, dude. He knows you're good. Just, like… not today.”

Amy humphs and puts her head down on her desk. Rosa keeps talking about the case, but the words are running together, and Amy feels too sick to try to piece them apart. The desk is cool against her hot forehead, but at the same time her skin prickles uncomfortably at the contact. Amy feels fuzzy-headed and might have started to drift off had she not been wracked by a shiver. She's suddenly aware that Rosa's been saying her name.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah.” Amy lifts her head and everything swims sickeningly. “Witnesses. Got it.”

 

 

As Amy uses the last tissue and has to go track down a new box, she feels her frustration mounting. She's sure she would ordinarily have been long finished, but everything is taking longer. When she's not stopping to cough, the writing is blurred in her eyes, and she can't clear her vision. She's also cold, really cold, and she's put her coat back on but the shivering hasn't stopped.

She's blowing her nose sullenly when Jake approaches her, somewhat wary. Amy, too, is instantly guarded, and her eyes narrow defensively, but Jake is holding out a steaming mug like a peace offering.

“Brought you some tea with honey,” he says awkwardly. “You looked cold, and I thought it might help your throat.”

“Thank you,” she whispers with what's left of her voice, accepting the mug and resting both hands around it. She  _is_  cold.

Jake sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, Ames, I don't want to be overbearing. And this— _us_ —is still new, but I, y'know, care about you and stuff. And I don't like to see you making yourself sicker. But I'm sorry if I overstepped.”

Amy shifts in discomfort and has just enough presence of mind to be annoyed at the irony of it all. She's been trying to get Jake to open up for weeks, and now, when he's finally actually talking about feelings, her head is buzzing too much to follow it. She can barely process what he just said, much less compose a response. She curses her stupid, achy body and the whole situation.

Jake is waiting for a reply. “…Yeah,” she manages, coughing. He gives her a weird look.  _Wrong answer_. “I mean, thank you,” she tries again, brain sluggish and muddled, “for your… concern. And the tea. But I am—good to… be here.” God, everything hurts and she can't think, this is so frustrating. “I mean, I am perfectly capable for my job.” Did that sound right? She can't tell.

Amy picks up the tea to cover her awkwardness, but she's only just taken the first sip when she starts coughing. She sputters and inhales what feels like half the cup, which only makes her cough harder, and then somehow the tea is all over her and all her paperwork is ruined.

“ _Dammit_ ,” she chokes out with frustrated tears in her eyes, trying to mop at the papers almost frantically with her coat sleeve. She knocks the mug off her desk, and it hits the ground and shatters.

The crash draws the eyes of the rest of the bullpen, but Amy doesn't see them. “DAMMIT!” The word rips from her sore throat and the tears have spilled over and begun running down her cheeks.

Amy stands and stumbles. Jake grabs her by the arms in worry, but she immediately wrenches her arms out of his grasp and clutches at the desk instead, stubbornly riding out the dizziness with white knuckles. As soon as the world has righted itself, Amy flees the bullpen.

 

 

In her wake, the bullpen is silent, stunned. Jake stands where she left him by the shattered remains of the mug looking shocked and casts his gaze around at the other detectives in bewilderment.

“What the  _hell_?” he finally says.

Charles makes himself useful right away, pulling out a dustpan and sweeping up the ceramic fragments. Jake is starting to look angry. “I made her tea. That was a thoughtful gesture!” He rounds on Gina. “I wasn't being overbearing, was I? I specifically said I wasn't trying to control her!”

Gina agrees from her desk. “I thought you nailed it, girl.”

Jake rubs a hand over his face in frustration. "…Then what the  _hell?_ " he repeats.

“Look on the bright side,” Gina says, “at least she's gone now and taken her germs with her.”

“I'm gonna go find her,” Jake decides, moving to step over Charles, but Rosa blocks his path.

“No you won’t. I'll go.”

“But—”

“You'll just upset her more.”

“But I didn't  _do_  anything!”

Rosa glares, but he looks so bewildered that she backs down and sighs. “Look, it's not your fault. Amy's sick.”

“Which is why I  _brought her tea_ —”

“No, I mean, she's exhausted and miserable and she feels like crap. I think she's got a fever, too. And she's frustrated with herself cause she's not at her best. It didn't matter what you did, she was bound to snap.”

Understanding washes over Jake’s face. “I gotta talk to her.”

“No, you don't. It can't go well as long as she feels so lousy. I'll take her home, you go check out that crime scene with Boyle. You can talk once she's cooled down.”

Jake looks skeptical. “Since when does Rosa Diaz know so much about emotions?”

“You mean, since when does Rosa Diaz know so much about being pissed off at everyone and everything?”

“Fair enough,” Jake agrees, standing. “You think you can handle her?”

Rosa raises an eyebrow.

“Right, right, stupid question.” Jake grabs his jacket, beckoning to Charles. “Okay, I'm out. Thanks, Rosa, I owe you.”

 

 

Rosa finds Amy in the evidence lockup this time, sitting on some overturned boxes in the corner and crying. She looks up when Rosa enters and her face is a mess, red and blotchy and smeared with tears.

“W-what?” she sniffs, standoffish, defensive. Rosa doesn't answer, just walks over, takes a seat nearby, and hands her some paper towels.

Amy's face crumples again at the gesture, and she sobs while she mops at her face. “I'm sorry!” Rosa starts to respond but Amy keeps crying and choking out apologies directed more at the paper towel than anything else and generally making herself more upset, and Rosa's never seen her like this. She can't get a word in edgewise until Amy finally chokes on her tears and coughs herself into silence.

She looks up at Rosa cautiously, face now dry but red and raw, but Rosa just hands her the rest of the paper towels. “Hey,” she says, “breathe.” Rosa breathes too, slowly and evenly for Amy to mimic.

After a few minutes, Amy's breathing is steady, if wheezy and punctuated by frequent sniffles. She's started shivering again, though, or maybe it's only noticeable now that she's still. She hugs her thin coat to herself—Rosa realizes that it's still soaked with tea—and swallows hard, not meeting Rosa's eyes.

“Thank you.” Her voice is thick with congestion, only made worse by the tears. “I'm sorry.”

“S'okay.”

“It's  _not_  okay.” Amy raises her head and God, she looks awful. “I was horrible, to Jake, to everyone. And you all were being so nice. And… and I was  _horrible_.”

“No.” Rosa makes Amy meet her eyes. “You're sick and you're not yourself. We all get it, we've all been there.”

She sniffles. “Jake—”

“Jake gets it too. He's not mad. He left with Charles to check out a crime scene, and I'm gonna take you home, and you can talk when he gets back.”

Amy sniffles again. “I can do it myself.”

“No. You can't drive like that.” Her tone leaves no room for debate as she gets up. “C'mon.”

With no energy to argue, Amy stands and instantly stumbles as the world sways sickeningly around her. Rosa catches her by the arm and holds her steady, waiting wordlessly while Amy bends over until the black spots clear from her vision.

Rosa keeps a hand on Amy's shoulder—half-support, half-comfort—as they leave the evidence room. Amy’s pretty out of it and concentrating on not falling over, but the gesture is so un-Rosa-like that it occurs to her even through her haze to feel touched. And then she feels bad again.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “I'm sorry, I know you hate this.”

Rosa rolls her eyes. “I don't hate this,” is all she says, and it sounds surprisingly honest. Amy might normally have pressed her, but not today.

All eyes turn to them as they enter the bullpen, and Rosa's grip on Amy’s shoulder tightens ever-so-slightly while she glares at the others until they go back to work. She leads Amy to the captain's office and stands in the doorway, while Amy hangs back a bit, half-hiding behind the doorpost, head hung low and sniffling.

Rosa gets straight to the point. “Captain, I'm taking Santiago home.”

Holt glances up, looking unsurprised. “Good, thank you, Diaz,” he nods approvingly. “Make sure she doesn't drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Amy can't help but feel like a small child in front of the captain as they talk about her over her head. Her face burns from embarrassment as well as fever, and she closes her eyes, wishing she were anywhere else.

When Holt finally says, “Dismissed,” Amy can't get away fast enough, but he calls her back before she can escape. “Detective Santiago.”

“Yes sir?” She winces at the hoarse croak that comes out.

“…I hope that you do feel better. Soon.”

Amy finally looks up to see the captain looking at her over his glasses, uncomfortable but sincere. Her heart warms a little. “Thank you, sir.”

 

 

Rather than leave right away, Rosa steers Amy into the break room and deposits her into a chair. Her coat is still wet, and the shivering is getting worse. Rosa reaches out and feels Amy’s clammy forehead with the back of her hand before shouting out to the bullpen. “Sarge! Can we get some help in here?”

The sergeant, just returned from a crime scene, joins them in the break room and looks shocked at how Amy's condition has deteriorated since he saw her that morning.

“Damn, Santiago!” She doesn't respond; her eyes have drifted shut.

“She's got a fever,” Rosa says. “Will you get some meds into her while I find her some dry clothes?”

Terry is wary. “Why's she all wet?”

“It's tea.”

“She's gotta go home!”

“I'm gonna drive her. Just need to break into her locker. Be right back.”

“Wait, break in?”

But Rosa is already gone, and a violent shudder from Amy refocuses his attention. With the practiced care of a father, Terry feels her forehead, then cheek, and Rosa was right, she definitely has a fever.

It should never have been allowed to get this bad. Damn his stupid grown-up kids.

“Hey Amy? Have you taken anything?”

“Hm?” She blearily cracks an eye open.

“Medicine,” Terry clarifies. “Have you taken any medicine?”

“Oh. Um…” Amy rubs her aching temples. Normally she wouldn't have to think so hard about this. “I took ibuprofen at… two? In the morning? …And cough medicine at four.”

Damn, was she up all night? “Did you get any sleep?”

Amy shrugs, eyes already closed again. Terry opens a cabinet and examines the precinct’s medicine kit. Pretty unimpressive showing. He makes a mental note that they could do with restocking.

The strongest stuff they have in here is DayQuil. “How are you feeling?”

Amy replies in a small voice: “Not good.” Well, at least that was honest.

Terry measures out some doses of medicine. “I think there’s some ice cream in the freezer, you want that?”

She shakes her head. “Wanna go  _home_.”

Terry’s not sure if it’s the fever or if she’s just exhausted, but he doesn’t think he’s ever known Santiago to be too out of it for complete sentences before.

Amy is just taking a dose of ibuprofen when Rosa returns with a large NYPD hoodie.

“Found this in your locker,” she says. “Get your coat off and put it on.”

Amy obeys sluggishly, and her shivering intensifies in the short period between coat and sweatshirt.

“That’s some bug she’s got,” Terry says. “I gave her DayQuil and Advil. Make sure she’s got lots of water, and call me if you need something.”

“Copy that. Thanks, Sarge.”

He grasps Amy’s shoulder briefly. “Feel better, Amy.”

She makes an effort to raise her head and manages a feeble smile. “Thanks.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Rosa’s already grabbed Amy’s coat and bag for her. “Get up slow— _slowly…_  okay, close enough. Come on.”

Amy shuffles along beside Rosa and they make their way to the elevator. She slumps against the wall in the back corner and braces herself, but when the elevator starts moving it still feels like her stomach has dropped out along with the floor. They stop at the garage with another lurch, and Amy’s content to let Rosa lead her blindly to her car and deposit her in the passenger seat.

She clumsily does her seatbelt by muscle memory while Rosa goes around and gets in the driver’s seat. “Give me your keys.”

Amy looks through her purse but all the contents blur together, and she’s taking so long that Rosa just grabs the bag from her and finds them herself.

Amy’s cough returns with a vengeance shortly into the drive while they’re stopped at a light. The fit brings tears of exertion and pain to her eyes and has her turned away from Rosa and bent double in her seat. As it finally relents and she gasps for breath, she realizes Rosa’s holding her shoulder again, this time rubbing it comfortingly.

The light changes, and Rosa removes her hand to hold out a water bottle. “Drink something.”

Amy shakes her head, looking pained. “It hurts to swallow,” she whispers.

“Do it anyway.” Rosa keeps her eyes on the road while waving the water bottle in Amy’s face until she takes it.

Amy holds it in her lap, but fiddles with the lid rather than drink. “Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Being nice and stuff. Driving me home.”

“I dunno, you don’t feel good.”

“Yeah, but you’re taking care of me. You don’t do that.”

Rosa wonders what Amy would say if she knew she went to medical school for three years.

“Thanks, though,” Amy adds as an afterthought, eyes drifting shut. “'S nice.  _You’re_  nice.”

Rosa rolls her eyes fondly. “Drink your water, Santiago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'm very nervous to post this, so please please let me know what you think. And thanks again to those who commented on my last fic; without your encouragement this would have stayed tucked away in a journal forever and never seen the light of day. My tumblr is luna-and-mars, please come say hi or talk about b99 or anything else at any time!!


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy, that afternoon.

When Jake quietly lets himself into Amy’s apartment that afternoon with a grocery bag in hand, it looks deserted at first. He doesn’t see Amy and the lights are off, but a second later a wheezy noise alerts him to her presence. Jake follows the wheezing to the couch where Amy is curled up in a fuzzy blanket, asleep. It would be cute if not for the pallid face, runny nose, and—actually, it’s pretty cute either way, Jake decides.

He’s about to put the groceries away when Amy starts to stir, coughing. She fumbles about blearily for a tissue, and Jake pushes the box into her hands. She automatically gives a muffled grunt of thanks, then pauses to look up at Jake and stare blinking in confusion.

“Jake?”

“Hey.” He moves her water bottle within reach too. “How are you doing?”

“Mmph,” she says eloquently, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How long’ve you been here?”

“Just a minute or so, did I wake you?”

“No, I keep waking myself up coughing.” Amy readjusts her blankets so that she’s completely wrapped in them, shivering slightly.

“I brought you popsicles. Rosa said you have a fever.”

She looks confused for a moment, thinking hard, before a dawning realization washes over her face, as she seems to suddenly remember the events of that morning. “Oh god—Jake—I’m so sorry.” She scrambles to sit up more.

“It’s okay.”

“I just—I wasn’t—it was—”

“Hey,” he sits beside her and rests a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, all right? We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

She’s shaking her head. “No, this is important. I didn’t mean what I said—I really do appreciate all you’ve been doing for me. I shouldn’t have been short with you all day and I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Ames, it’s fine. You were sick.”

“That doesn’t mean I should take it out on you.”

“Well then, I forgive you. Okay?”

Squinting at him until she’s sure he’s being honest, Amy sniffles. “Okay.”

“So how are you feeling?”

She rubs her eyes tiredly. “Sick.”

Jake feels her forehead. He doesn’t know exactly what to look for, but he’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to feel so warm. “You hot?”

She shakes her head. “Cold.”

“You want tea? Soup? I can heat some up.” Jake stands and grabs the grocery bag and starts putting things away. Amy shakes her head. “You sure? It’s past lunchtime, and it’ll warm you up. When’s the last time you ate?”

She shrugs. “’M not hungry.”

“You gotta eat, Ames.”

She keeps shaking her head, looking faintly repulsed. “Not now. I don’t feel good.”

“Okay.” Jake’s pretty sure it should be _well_ there, but she looks so miserable he decides not to correct her. Feeling very mature, he makes a mental note to tease her mercilessly later. “You wanna—I dunno—change out of your work clothes or something?” She’s still wearing a very wrinkled pantsuit.

She considers it, nods, and shuffles, blankets and all, toward her bedroom.

Amy emerges a few minutes later dragging the same blankets, but now her hair is down and she’s wearing blue fleece pajamas with snowflakes and fuzzy socks.

There’s one other change. “Nice glasses,” Jake snickers.

She frowns vaguely at him from behind giant lenses, too tired to put much effort into the glare and quickly breaking off into a cough anyway. Jake watches as she slumps on the couch, tucks her legs up underneath her into the blanket, and shivers.

He scoots over to sit beside her and rubs her shoulder, offering a bit of body warmth, but Amy pulls away.

“You’re gonna get sick.”

“You’ve had this for days. If I was going to get sick, it would have happened already,” Jake says, but he moves back to his end of the couch. “You wanna watch a movie?” A shrug. “Netflix?” She shrugs again. Her eyes are already closed.

Jake queues up _Serve and Protect_ , turns the volume down low, and makes a late lunch for himself. Amy still shudders and stirs restlessly every once in a while, but for the most part she appears to have fallen asleep.

 

Jake’s phone buzzes, and somewhere in the apartment he can faintly hear Amy’s too. It’s the sergeant on the squad text chain, asking after Amy. Jake sends them a picture in which the top of Amy’s hair is only just visible under all the blankets.

 **Terry:** Poor kid.

 **Charles:** AWWWW!!!! You’re taking care of her!!!

 **Scully:** wjat;s tghat

 **Gina:** tell her we burned everything she ever touched

 **Terry:** Tell her we all hope she feels better!

 **Gina:** 🔥🔥🔥

 **Jake:** Thanks guys

 

All is quiet until there's a sudden rustling of blankets, and Jake looks over to find that Amy's woken up. She’s doing… something, Jake’s not sure what, but she sure is floundering about and kicking a lot. In fact, if she’s not careful, she’s going to—

 _Thump_.

Ow.

Jake rushes over to the still-squirming lump of blankets now on the floor. “Ames, you okay?”

She blinks up at him helplessly, and his heart jolts as he notices the frustrated, uncomfortable tears in her eyes.

“ _Hot_.”

Jake goes to work quickly untangling her from the blankets. He helps her back onto the couch, but she’s still not done, kicking off her socks and trying to wiggle out of her heavy pajamas.

Jake looks away awkwardly, not sure whether he should be helping her undress in _this_ particular setting, but when she gets stuck with her shirt halfway over her head and lets out a soft, defeated sob, he pushes aside his hesitation and quickly interferes.

Once he’s done, Amy sits there in a sweaty tank top, face flushed and hair a mess, with a few hot, miserable tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Too hot?” Jake asks unnecessarily, feeling her temperature. Amy pulls away, skin painfully sensitive to touch. Jake couldn’t tell if her fever had gotten worse or not anyway. “Hang tight, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Jake finds a small hand towel in the bathroom and runs it under cool water, wringing it out in the sink. Returning to the couch, he drapes it over the back of Amy’s neck, feeling proud of himself when she sighs in relief.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Jake looks in the freezer, and there’s two ice packs already frozen and ready for whenever they may be needed—she would be the type, wouldn’t she. He wraps one in a paper towel before resting it on her forehead.

“Thanks,” Amy croaks. There’s a long pause, and he thinks she’s drifted off again when he hears the hoarse whisper. “You don’t have to stay.”

Jake pauses the TV. “What?”

“I’m all gross right now. I don’t want you to get sick. And you’ve got work.”

“Nope, Holt gave me the rest of the day off… Do you want me to leave?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’ll stay,” he says simply, holding off any further argument. “I _want_ to stay.”

 

All is quiet but for the TV, a faint but steady wheezing, and occasional sniffles for another twenty minutes until Amy gets cold again. “Just can’t get a break, can you?” Jake says sympathetically as she hunts frantically for the discarded blankets and then clutches at them, shivering uncontrollably. “C’mere.” He pulls her balled-up form onto his lap.

“Don’t get sick,” she instructs sternly while simultaneously burrowing in closer to his warmth. Jake doesn’t get how she can feel so cold with such a high temperature, but he holds her and strokes her hair while she continues to tremble.

 

Two episodes of _Serve and Protect_ later, a cough alerts Jake to the fact that Amy’s woken up. “Hey, you,” he greets her.

She pushes herself up and fumbles about fruitlessly. Jake watches for a few seconds before interfering. “What are you looking for? Tissues? Water?”

“Glasses.”

Of course. He hands them to her and she puts them on, blinking as the world comes into focus. Jake can’t help but smile at the sight of her in the overly-large frames.

“Hey,” he says again.

“Hey.” It comes out a strangled croak and she tries to clear her throat but only ends up coughing.

“How you doing?”

She doesn’t answer that, suddenly looking alarmed. “What are you still doing here? You’re gonna get sick!”

“You said you didn’t want me to leave. Besides, you told me specifically not to get sick, I wouldn’t dare,” Jake jokes, then frowns. “Do you not remember that?”

She shrugs and blows her nose before slumping sideways into a couch cushion with a muffled groan.

“You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm.”

He’s pretty sure that’s a lie. “Think you can handle some soup now?”

Another shrug which Jake takes to mean yes. “I’m gonna go heat it up,” he says, standing, but before he leaves he puts Amy’s water bottle in her hands. “Drink something. You need water.”

“You never drink water.”

“I’m not sick and dehydrated. Would you rather have orange soda?”

“No.” She accepts the water bottle, wincing as she tries to swallow past her sore throat.

Jake microwaves the soup—it’s not his mom’s matzah ball soup, but it’ll do in a pinch—and starts to bring a bowl to Amy, but she stops him in his tracks.

“Uh-uh. Kitchen.”

“What?”

“Kitchen,” she repeats, pointing.

“But you’re sick!”

“So?”

“So eating soup on the couch in front of the TV is an essential part of being sick.”

“Jake, my throat hurts, are you really gonna make me argue?”

“Hey, playing the sore throat card? That’s not fair,” Jake pouts, but complies.

Amy stands slowly and follows him to the kitchen table, dragging one of the blankets along with her. Jake places the warm bowl of soup and a spoon in front of her.

“Thanks.”

“’Course.” He goes to heat something up for himself. “Hey, I forgot, the squad asked after you.”

“They did?”

“Terry says he hopes you feel better.”

Amy’s smile is small but genuine. “Aw. That’s nice.”

“Gina says she burned everything you’ve ever touched.”

“Less nice. But I wouldn’t blame her. I’m still worried you’re going to catch this.”

“Ames, it’s fine. I just won’t lick your eyeballs for the next few days.”

“Is that really how you think the germ theory of—wait, the next few days? Were you planning on licking my eyeballs after that?”

“What? No,” Jake scoffs, “shut up and eat your soup.”

And she does, after typing out a thank-you on the group text (Gina responds with more fire emojis).

 

Amy eats slowly and only finishes half the soup. Jake tries to urge her to eat more, but she pushes the bowl away, looking slightly queasy. He settles for putting the rest away in the fridge so she can reheat it later.

He still hasn’t finished his meal, but he ignores that for now. “Want to watch a movie?”

She’s rubbing her head as though trying to relieve some of the ache. “I think I just wanna go to bed,” she decides. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, that’s probably smort.”

“You should get going. Seriously. We’ve been breathing the same air for too long.”

“Again: you’ve been all germy for days, if I were going to get sick it would’ve already happened. But fine—” he says placatingly as she opens her mouth to argue, “—I’ll go once you’re asleep. I’ll just finish eating this first. And maybe raid your kitchen for some real food, too.”

“Okay.” She stands up very slowly, trying to avoid the dizziness.

“Go brush your teeth for an hour or whatever else it is that you do,” Jake instructs. “When you’re ready, shout and—or, no, sore throat, don’t shout—bang on something and I’ll come tuck you in.”

She smiles tiredly and shuffles off.

Jake busies himself with eating his own dinner when two soft knocks ring out from the bedroom. He enters to find Amy in bed, having changed into lighter-weight pajamas this time. She’s got some book in hand, but her eyes are on him. “You came,” she rasps, a glint of humor in her voice.

Jake mocks offense. “Did you ever doubt me?”

Amy giggles, which predictably turns into a cough.

“Do you have everything you need? Water?”

“Yeah.” She snuggles deeper under the blankets and places her glasses on the bedside table. “You’re gonna wash your hands really well before you eat and then leave and take Vitamin C and not get sick?”

“You bet,” he says with bravado. “Heck, I’ll even take Vitamin _A_.”

Amy stares at him for a few seconds, apparently trying to decide whether he’s serious and then whether it’s worth getting into it. She decides to let it go.

“Thank you for doing all this.”

“Of course.”

But she sits up a little more and looks at him earnestly. “No, I mean it. Thank you. We haven’t been dating nearly long enough to warrant this taking-care-of-your-sick-and-gross-girlfriend-all-day.”

“We’ve been friends for years. And…” he looks down self-consciously, “I meant it, when I said I wanted to be with you.”

Amy doesn’t say anything, just reaches out for his hand (before thinking better of it, mindful of germs, and squeezing his elbow instead).

Jake leans over and kisses her forehead. She still feels warm, but he thinks maybe it’s not as bad as before. “Besides, we’re partners. Gotta look out for each other,” he grins, going to turn off the lights. “Call me when you wake up, let me know how you’re doing. Feel better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I decided to split up these chapters; this seemed like a good natural break. Also, this part was ready to go and I'm still working on the rest. I wasn't planning on posting it when I wrote it, so I have a few different narratives that break off from here that I need to wrangle back into one cohesive story
> 
>  _Thank you so much_ for the response to this story so far!! I'm so excited that you guys seem to like it, and I hope that's true of this chapter as well. I welcome thoughts or critique on any aspects of the story or my writing. Comments and kudos absolutely make my entire day, and not to pressure you, but it _is_ my birthday, and I would love to hear what you think :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Please please please let me know what you think, I would appreciate any and all critique or suggestions. This is my first time posting something that has this degree of real actual Feelings in it (as opposed to just fluff, etc.), so I'm much more nervous about sharing it.
> 
> My tumblr is luna-and-mars, please come say hi or talk about b99 or anything else at any time!!


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